


the princess, the witch, and the woodsman

by filipofmounthonora



Category: The School for Good and Evil - Soman Chainani
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, agatha can say fuck in this one, bc i am not going to tag everyone at once my brain too small, they will be tagged as they appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22419259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filipofmounthonora/pseuds/filipofmounthonora
Summary: in which three siblings are much too far in over their heads, and try to go home.
Relationships: Anadil/Hester (The School for Good and Evil), Aric/Japeth (The School for Good and Evil), Chaddick/Nicholas (The School for Good and Evil)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

Tomorrow was the day all Gavaldon dreaded.

And while all children in the valley tossed and turned in their beds, plagued by visions of a devil-eyed spectre in the guise of a School Master, with claws and teeth to rip and rend and whisk them far away from their warm, cozy cottages—three siblings, in a house on a graveyard hill, slept soundly in a calm before a storm.

Two of them passed the night dreamlessly.

But Sophie dreamt of princes.

She swept through gilded palace doors towards the floor of a ball thrown in her honor, but all she found was suitors, hundreds of them, with matching thick lips and white smiles and red roses that they raised to her, each dropping to one knee as she passed. Broad-shouldered and well-muscled, with smooth flawless skin in every shade, every single one was more beautiful than the last. She came to the end of the line, where the last of them, different than the others, the one that truly felt like her Happily Ever After, offered the most radiant rose of all… Sophie gasped as the princess kissed her hand with the grace of a swan—

A hammer broke through the room and smashed them all to bits.

Sophie’s eyes flew open to the light of morning, her heart thudding in her chest. It wasn’t real.

_ BANG. BANG. BANG. _

But the hammer was. She rolled over, wrapping her pillow around her face and ears, muffling the noise at her window as well as her frustrated groan.

Somehow her father heard her above his din. The floorboards creaked as he shuffled over to Sophie and gently prised her fingers out of their iron grip. Sophie forced herself upright, glowering with all the force she could muster.

“Sorry, love,” he said, pecking her on the forehead. “Must’ve forgotten the time. I thought you’d gotten up by now. Everyone else has.”

“I  _ told _ you, Father,” grumbled Sophie, “if I don’t get at least nine hours of rest, my eyes look swollen.” She rubbed her eyes free of muck. Her gaze drifted over to her bedroom window, the only light from outside streaming through the places that weren’t already covered by locks and spikes and screws. The wooden boards seemed like a second line of defense.

Sophie frowned. How was the School Master supposed to get in?

“Your ma told me not to bother,” her father sighed. Her bed sagged under his weight as he sat down, observing his half-finished work. “Says there’s no way the School Master would even dare come here. Says that if it’s goodness he wants, he’s better off taking Gunilda’s daughter.”

Sophie tensed. “Belle?”

“Lovely girl, that one.” He ran a large hand through his black and graying hair, grimacing as if pained by having to compare his daughter to another. “Brings her mother lunches at the mill. Gives the leftovers to that poor old lady in square. Watches over the little ones when their parents can’t.”

Sophie untangled her legs from her sheets, scrambling to his side. “But I’m better, right?” she pressed, beaming angelically.

He eyed her solemnly, his fond smile soured by the hint of worry in his black eyes. “We’ll see if he comes around tonight. But I don’t think you’d want that.”

“Well, I  _ do,” _ Sophie mumbled.

Her father barked out a short, dumbfounded guffaw. Then he snorted. Chuckled. And laughed, long and hard.

Then he noticed Sophie’s face.

“Oh,” he murmured, humorless as she was. “You’re serious.”

Sophie pursed her lips tightly.

“You worry me sometimes,” he said finally, standing back up. “Breakfast will be ready in half an hour. Go get ready.”

Sophie gave him a hug and trotted to the bathroom. Swiping aside her mother’s jars of dog tongues and lizard feet and goodness-knows-what-else, she studied her face in the mirror. She’d been so distracted preparing for the School Master’s visit, she’d let herself go. The blonde highlights in her hair had started fading back to black. She’d need time to lighten it in the sun. Her plump, golden-brown cheeks were losing their glow. She’d need more time for a face mask. A face mask, and cucumbers: her once-bright eyes were a murky swamp-green and puffy.

_ But still a princess, _ she reminded herself. She’d never stop being a princess. Even if her mother had to teach her at home because the village school’s headmaster insisted otherwise. Even if she had to stay indoors every day because boys would throw rotten fruit at her when she left the graveyard. Even if other girls would glare at her hatefully when she tried to talk to them. Even if she had her father’s jaw and nose and thick eyebrows and deep voice and the hint of a moustache above her lip—

Sophie yelped, scrabbling for a razor. Thank goodness she’d noticed that before the School Master did. Suppose he put her in with Evil!  _ Still a princess. Still a girl. _ She hummed to calm herself down, brass scraping hair off her skin. Stress meant wrinkles. Wrinkles made you look old. Looking old made you… not a princess.

But tonight she’d be in a better place. Tonight she’d be in a place where she’d fit in. Tonight her fairy tale would begin.

All she needed to do was look the part.

In the cabinet behind the mirror were her own little jars, filled with pumpkin puree, goat’s milk, fish eggs—no one in her family truly understood how vital they were to her, but at least they’d  _ tried. _ Mama had helped her gather most of them: the goose feathers, the horse hooves, the vial of cow’s blood. “A little witch in training,” she’d called her, despite the countless corrections. Hopefully the School Master would disagree.

She rubbed the fish eggs into her skin first, massaged the puree after, and rinsed it all into the sink with the milk. Debating on how futile it was to cleanse her skin before breakfast (which would most likely be buttered toast and eggs, maybe a sausage or two if her brother hadn’t eaten them all last night—in other words, lots of oil), she decided against putting on a face mask. She’d have time later.

She’d make time.

-

On an ordinary day, Sophie would be eating breakfast on her own, thanks to her particular schedule. This day, however, she was privy to the exhaustion the rest of her family went through so early in the morning. She could only assume her father wasn’t joining them because he’d found a temporary excuse not to in his impromptu construction. But the others were there, huddled over their plates with matching bleary eyes and black clothes. And there was also Sophie, sitting daintily at the end of the table, fresh and pink as a rose.

To her left sat her siblings: Agatha closest to her, Aric next to her, and baby Arty snuffling in their crib next to the fire. They all had the same black hair and freckled brown skin and dark eyes—their whole family did. Mother, whose eyes were the same green as Sophie's, was the mild exception. She sat to the right, with Mama, who fussed with the braid hanging loose over her shoulder, sitting opposite Sophie. Faded tattoos of ravens and crows flew across her strong arms, crossed with old scars and new burns from her blacksmith's forge. Mother had a few burns of her own from crafting healing salves and potions that she would tend to her patients with.

Between tradesmen looking to repair their tools and sick people seeking remedies to their illnesses, the cottage on Graves Hill often bustled with excitement, customers passing in and out at all times of the day. But this past week the house had been empty, those in the village were much too occupied with possible kidnappings to trek up through the graveyard. Mother had visited patients in the valley and come back with stories of families shutting their children behind boarded-up doors and windows. "Every four years it's the same story," she'd sighed, shaking her head. "Panic and paranoia everywhere. No good in it at all."

Apparently that same fear had infected her father, Sophie thought glumly. She picked at her eggs with her fork.

“You don’t need to look so down, Soph.”

Aric tore into his dry piece of toast, crouching on his chair like a gargoyle. Their parents had long tried to encourage better table manners in him. They’d given up rather quickly.

“School Master isn’t coming over here,” he said. “Probably isn’t even real. Right, Aggie?” He elbowed Agatha for a response.

“Fuck off.” She jabbed back. “But yeah, it’s all bullshit.”

“Agatha,” Mother warned.

“Let her be, Callis,” Mama drawled, giving Agatha a wink across the table.

“Leonora!”

“She’s already three-handfuls old. She can swear if she wants. It’s her birthday gift.” Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway and Mama leaned back in her chair. “Viktor? Agatha can swear now, can’t she?”

Father knocked his head on the doorway before he sat down next to his wife. “A promise is a promise… even if I do think you should stop indulging them. They'll have to grow up someday.”

"They're growing up  _ now." _ Mama leaned up to kiss his cheek. "Besides, I remember  _ you _ had quite the foul mouth yourself, my love," she teased, squeezing Mother's hand.

"That was only until I had to be a  _ good _ role model."

"You? Good? Weren't you teaching for—"

"I-if I may ask," Father interrupted suddenly. "What was Agatha swearing  _ about?" _

"'cause Sophie was poking at her eggs all mopey," Aric explained, mouth full of bread, "so I said she didn't need to worry 'cause y'know what Ma said, yeah? School Master won't show up here—"

"—then he punched me in the rib and I told him to fuck off," Agatha finished, glaring at her brother.

"I was  _ just _ trying to cheer Sophie up," Aric defended.

"Well, you're going about it in the wrong way," Father said. He glanced at Sophie, and she frowned, ready to protest—

"Sophie says she  _ wants _ to be taken."

Silence fell over the table.

Everyone blinked at her, then at each other, then back at her. Even little Arty's snores had stopped.

Sophie's cheeks colored in heavy scarlet. She stared down at her plate. This was  _ exactly _ why she hadn't told anyone before.

Then Aric started cackling, manic as a hyena and loud enough to wake the dead.

He wheezed, doubling over (as much as he really could) in hysterics. And soon Agatha started laughing too, then Mama, Father, Mother—until Sophie herself finally joined in giggling uncontrollably as they wiped tears from their eyes.

Wailing in their crib, Arty was the only one who didn't get the joke. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," cooed Aric amidst hiccups of laughter, dangling his hand in to quiet them. "I'm annoying, aren't I?"

He chuckled one last time, before they all turned back to his sister. "Really, Sophie? You  _ want _ to go with that madman?"

"Be whisked off into the woods?" Mama said, arms crossed.

"Get eaten by a bear?" Agatha snarked, spearing an egg.

"Never see us again?" Father worried.

"Where would you even  _ be?" _ Mother wondered.

"The School for Good," Sophie answered.

Her parents turned to each other, sharing a strange look.

"I'll be a princess," she continued confidently. "Get into a fairytale just like Rose and Rapunzel and Anya. Then you can all read about me when you miss me." She beamed a radiant white smile.

Aric and Agatha shrugged like it was none of their business. Her parents still seemed unsettled.

"I'll be  _ fine." _

At the head of the table, Mama straightened, her jaw set.

"Sophie," she began with an imperious calm. "The School Master  _ will not _ come here.  _ None _ of my children will be taken. And you will not want otherwise."

"But—"

"You will  _ not _ want otherwise," Mama hissed.

Sophie could see her shaking. But out of fear or anger…?

"Yes, Mama," she peeped.

"And whatever happens tonight, do not try to leave your rooms." Mama narrowed her eyes at her children. "Any of you."

There was a knock at the door.

"I'll get it," Aric said, scooping up Arty and rushing to the door. Sophie twisted around in her seat to watch him speak to someone outside.

After a while he walked back to the table. He pointed behind him. “Soph. Pipp wants to see you.”

All eyes turned to Sophie once again.

“Which—?”

“Nicola.”

“Oh. Did… did she say  _ why?” _ Sophie asked warily.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Nicola. She  _ did _ like her. A lot. Their paths crossed whenever Sophie followed Agatha to the storybook shop, where the three girls would spend their time curled up in a nook, poking fun at the stories and the silly decisions the characters made. Nicola would smile at her and laugh with her, and sometimes she’d even sneak in homemade pastries for her under Mr. Deauville’s nose. But everyone was nice to Sophie when Agatha was there.

Aric’s nose scrunched in thought, his purple eyes drifting to the ceiling as he sat back down, cradling Arty. “Something something… last hours before the kidnapping. Make it count…?” He eyed Sophie like she’d be able to correct him. “She was talking  _ really _ fast.”

“Well.” Sophie stood and smoothed out her dress. “I can’t keep her waiting, can I? Please excuse me.”

Hiking up her skirt like a ballgown, she swept away from her family and towards the front door, peeking through the window next to it. Nicola was pacing frantically on the porch. Her beige dress and warm brown skin was dusted with flour, her boots flecked with mud and grass, springy strands of hair falling out of her protective bun. All of this Sophie was used to. But the fact that the book in Nicola’s hands was in pristine condition, without dog-eared pages and cracked leather spines—that was different.

Sophie cracked open the front door. Nicola startled.

“Hi,” she said, nervously. She carefully avoided any eye contact. This was normal.

“Hi,” said Sophie, opening the door wider.

Nicola handed over the fairytale she was holding. “I bought you this. I was going to give it to you on Saturday, but… you didn’t show up. Agatha asked if I wanted  _ her _ to give it to you instead.” She fidgeted with the hem of her dress. “I told her I wanted to do it in person.”

Sophie’s finger traced glimmering gold letters.  _ THE WHITE WITCH, _ read the title.

“I remember you saying it was your favorite,” Nicola continued, starting to get flustered. “So I saved up and I thought- I thought I’d get it for you and we could—I don’t know—read it together? There’s this spot by the lake—it’s a huge oak and sometimes I climb up really high and- and no one bothers me up there—”

Sophie pursed her lips, her throat strangely tight. “Nic.”

“Maybe this afternoon? When the sun sets the leaves start to glow and it looks absolutely wonderful. Like fire, Sophie. It’s so beautiful up there. Kind of like you.”

Thoughts flew to her dream. The way the other  _ princess _ smiled. The way her soft lips felt. The twinkle in her eye, the curl of her hair.

“I know I’m being forward. Really. It’s just that…” Nicola’s hands started to flap. “I- I  _ like _ you. I always have. And I just want to take you somewhere nice before you leave. Everyone says it’s Belle  _ he’s _ taking. But I know it’ll be you.”

Thoughts drifted to her Mama’s warning. No wanting otherwise. “Nic—”

“Because everyone thinks I’m weird.  _ Everyone. _ Because I talk too much about fairytales. Because they think I’m too stuck-up. Because I do  _ this—” _ her hands flapped harder— “and don’t look people in the eye. Even Belle. But you don’t.” Wide eyes settled on Sophie’s nose. “You understand me. And when you’re gone there won’t  _ be _ anyone to—”

Princesses loved boys. Princesses dreamed of boys. Only boys. Boys, boys,  _ boys. _

_ “Nicola,” _ Sophie said firmly.

Slowly, Nicola’s hands stilled.

Sophie gave her the most gracious smile she could muster. “I’ve already got this book.”

“Oh.”

“And I’m flattered, I am… but I won’t be able to make it this afternoon.” She felt sick. So, so sick.

“Okay.”

“You understand, don’t you?” Her smile stiffened. “I’m going to be a  _ princess, _ I can’t possibly date a  _ girl—” _

“I understand.” Nicola spun away. Sophie thought she saw tears, just for a moment.

“Maybe he  _ will _ take Belle,” Sophie soothed, fighting down bile.

But Nicola was already shuffling off the porch. Once her boots touched grass, she sprinted down the hill, curls flying loose in her haste. And Sophie watched her disappear, a queer feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She knew she should call after her friend. Apologize. That would be the right thing to do. The good thing.

But she couldn’t make herself say anything.

She stared down at her gift, seeing only one word on its cover.

_ WITCH. _

“So?”

Sophie looked back at her family.

“What did she want?”

She set the book on the windowsill.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

She rushed to the bathroom, shut the door, and threw up her breakfast.

-

"I think she’s serious," Aric said.

"If she’s serious about getting  _ kidnapped, _ I think she’s gone mad," Agatha proposed.

The two of them followed Mother into town that afternoon. She was visiting patients, they wanted an excuse to get out of the house, so she brought them along. Ordinarily, Sophie would've joined them, but she was "indisposed", so she said. Everyone  _ really _ knew that meant she'd told a lie and gotten sick over it.

Now, they were sitting and waiting together on the front steps of a mill worker's house, grinning hideously at any passer-by who glanced at them long enough. They watched as villagers bustled to and fro, from their jobs and their schools to their homes, burly men with swords on their belts, mothers dragging along children with faces buried in books. Some had shaved heads and were clothed in dirty rags if they were handsome and well-behaved, others had gleaming locks and dressed in bright hues if they weren’t.

“I think everyone  _ else _ has gone mad, too. I don’t get how a whole village could believe in all this,” Agatha huffed. She watched as a boy in a mask leapt out at his mother, frightening her. “How the hell are we just supposed to accept that some random magical man comes once a year to take kids to a magical school where they learn magical nonsense just to end up in some stupid storybook?”

“How stupid are they if you still have a stack by your bed and sneak out every week to Mr. Deauville’s?”

Agatha gave Aric a dirty glare.

“Well, how would  _ you _ explain it?” he amended, feigning curiosity. “The kidnappings.”

“Every four years, two dumbasses hide in the woods trying to scare their parents and get killed by wolves.”

“The fairytales?”

“Mr. Deauville has some macabre tastes in inspiration.”

“And why haven’t the Elders cleared  _ anything _ up?”

“Does it look like I can read minds?” Agatha groaned. “Sophie’s just being stupid like always. The only thing we need to be worried about is her getting splinters from trying to get all that wood off her window—because let’s face it: that’s  _ definitely _ something she’d do.”

“I think you’re scared,” said Aric, more serious than she’d ever heard him. “You’re scared and you’re bluffing.”

“Why would I be scared?” she laughed.

“Because you know one of us is going with her.”

Agatha stopped laughing.

She followed his gaze, taking notice of all the sympathetic looks tossed their way. Two children, cloaked in black. A boy with teeth too sharp and eyes too mischievous; a girl with a sullen scowl and a hard stare. A pair of future villains—but the School Master only needed  _ one. _

“Because we’re all  _ different, _ Agatha. We’re different from  _ them, _ and Sophie’s different from us all.”

“Belle will be taken,” Agatha insisted shakily. “Belle and someone else.”

But as she tracked the street further, towards the square, she realized she was very wrong.

For kneeling in a puddle, hair shorn and filthy, was the very girl that once stood in Sophie’s way. Agatha’s eyes locked on, forced to observe as her sister’s chances of staying shrank with each splash of mud on Belle’s face. And though she knew she shouldn’t, she felt a flame of loathing flicker in her.

Thanks to Belle: tomorrow, her family wouldn’t be whole.

Thanks to Belle: she’d never see her sister again.

Thanks be to Belle.

Clenching her fists and teeth, Agatha turned to Aric.

“Promise me something,” he said, “and I’ll promise you the same.”

“What?”

“No matter which one of us he takes, we protect her. No matter what happens, we make sure she’s safe.”

Aric’s hand found hers, and he gripped it tightly.

“Really, Agatha, we’re all she’s got.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE BITCHES BET U THOUGHT I WAS DEAD

Four years ago, Aric hadn’t been old enough to be kidnapped.

But he was more than old enough to remember.

The ones taken were Garrick and Bane. Aric knew them well: he’d gone to school with them a few months—at least before he’d gotten kicked out for biting the headmaster. And that was Bane’s fault, anyway. He’d always had a habit of sticking his teeth into things they didn’t belong: books, desks, pets, people… and Aric had gotten his fair share of kicks and scratches from his sisters and Reaper for trying the same. From the moment he snapped Bane’s pencil between his jaws in the middle of learning the times-table, they’d been inseparable menaces.

And Garrick…

Oh, Garrick.

Aric shook the thought away. Poor Reaper, he thought instead, absently scratching his cat behind the ears. The sun was starting to set behind the valley houses of Gavaldon, setting the overgrown field of graves alight. A flaxen rabbit hopped between the stones. Reaper purred and stretched and yawned wide, wrinkles shifting on his hairless black body before he slunk over to the little hammock next to the door and hopped up onto it. Immediately there were the sounds of frantic rustling and excited squeaks, and Aric couldn't keep himself from smiling fondly.

"Aw, you woke the baby," he chided, peeking into the hammock.

The cat merely glared at him with his one good eye before curling up at the foot of the hammock with a huff. Aric's grin widened, and he pulled the soft knitted blanket off of his little sibling's face, revealing wide black eyes and a fuzzy, snuffling snout. One tiny paw curled around Aric's finger, the other clawing the air in search for Reaper.

"He's right over here, Arty," Aric soothed, guiding the toddler to pat Reaper's head. "See? There he is."

"Beep! Beep, Beep," Arty giggled, kicking their feet in childish glee. It shook the hammock and Reaper with it, the startled cat leaping off as fast as he could and scampering off under the porch.

"Uh-oh," said Arty, waving sadly. "Bye bye, Beep."

"Bye bye, Beep," said Aric.

He picked the baby up gently, heading back into the house and leaving the door a crack open for Reaper. The acrid odor of the fireplace filled Aric’s nose, mixed with the much more pleasant smells of herbs and meat simmering in a pot over the fire. Mother was huddled over it, stirring the broth; Agatha crouched down next to her, stoking the glowing embers.

Aric set Arty down in their crib. “What’s for dinner?”

“The bones of children,” Agatha cackled shrilly.

Mother scoffed and smacked her shoulder. “We are  _ not,” _ she admonished. “We’re having beef stew,” she told Aric, smiling down at Arty. “And hello, little pup.”

“Ma and Pa haven't come back yet," said Aric.

Tutting, Mother shook her head. “You’d think Stefan would see the urgency, as a father himself,” she said, glancing at Agatha. “Seems like the Elders buttered him up too much this year, making him Guard Captain.”

“They shouldn’t have gone,” Agatha grumbled, rankling at the mention of the Elders’ favored son. “Not like the School Master would come here anyway. All Leonora would have to do is shake a stick at him and he’d slink back off into the woods with his tail between his legs.” She glanced at Aric, who smiled tightly at her.

Neither of them noticed the change in Mother’s voice: “How I wish that were true.” She peered out the window, at the forest behind their home, searching for movement in the trees, for a monster expected but not yet arrived.

She saw nothing.

Mother sighed, turning back to the fire. “How I wish that were true.”

  
  


Sophie had been picking locks and prying nails since noon. She wasn’t very  _ good _ at it (and got a little distracted at some parts), but at least by the time the sun set, her window was cleared up. Unfortunately, she still had packing to do, makeup to put on, and a last bit of sewing to complete her new dress. She couldn’t look drab on her first day of school, could she?

Sophie scrambled below her bed for needles and thread, and pulled a frilly pink dress out from the back of her closet. She’d been working on it all year, bit by bit, in each moment she could steal away and add a line of stitching, another length of ribbon, another row of lace. And she’d never told a single soul about it. Not Aric, not Agatha, not her parents—

Especially not her parents.

Sophie could hear laughter, smell the aroma of a hot dinner. She shut her eyes, listening and breathing, absorbing her last memories of home from the other side of a door.

She knew they loved her. That they only wanted the best for her.

But they didn’t understand what she did.

Sophie threaded a needle.

Midnight would come soon enough.

She began to sew.

She recited her stitches in her head, the monotony of repetition keeping her in time as she drew the needle and thread through the cloth, a garden of embroidery sprouting beneath her fingertips. Stems grew emerald leaves headed with crimson roses, roses red as blood, roses her prince would pick and give to her bent on one knee, a prince like the ones from her dreams, dazzling and beautiful and clever and perfect with velvety brown eyes and coiled black hair and deep brown skin dusted with flour and a warm smile who was so in love with books and their stories it was impossible not to love them as well whenever she spoke about them with such passion and excitement her whole body could not keep itself still—

A sharp pain stung Sophie’s finger, snapping her out of her thoughts. She’d pricked herself.

Sophie pulled away before her blood could stain the fabric. But she still felt dazed, knowing who she’d been thinking about. Tomorrow would be the start of her new life, with a chance to finally find the prince she’d been dreaming and hoping and praying for. A new life a world away from the old, and hadn’t she known this? She was prepared to leave her family, the people that cared for her her whole life, but not  _ Nicola? _

Sophie remembered how her friend had fled Graves Hill. Crestfallen. Heartbroken. Her parting gift now lay accusingly on Sophie’s dresser, unopened and unread apart from the title she could no longer bear to look at. Because she had  _ lied. _ She didn’t have the book. She was free for the afternoon. And now, it was too late to fix anything.

So from here on, everything had to be perfect.

She looked down at her handiwork, scanning every inch for a mistake with pinpoint precision. She sighed, finding none. It was perfect. Her dress was perfect. All she had to do now was try it on.

She crept over to the full-length mirror standing in the corner of her room. Though it barely reached her chin these days it seemed to loom high over her, her reflection her only judge. Sophie stepped out of her nightgown and looked at herself, cast in moonlight. She looked at the faint dots freckling her skin and the moles under her eye, on her chin, on her collarbone. She looked at the faint scars from scrapes and childhood accidents. There was a nip from an angry goose on her thigh (animals were never very fond of Agatha), a mark on her arm from when she broke it rolling down Graves Hill (in a barrel, for a game of pretend; she and her siblings were grounded for a month), countless scratches on her shins (mostly courtesy of Reaper), and a strawberry birthmark on her ankle (Aric had a matching one). She was not perfect.

Sophie picked up the dress, pulled it over her head, and, with breath bated, looked again.

She looked—

She looked…

The same.

There was no missing piece that clicked into place, no dramatic transformation, no overwhelming sense of fulfillment. It was just…  _ her. _ Just Sophie. Imperfect Sophie.

Her hands brushed her neck where her Adam’s apple jutted out like a lump in her throat, ran flat across the lace on her chest, measured down her sides and smoothed her skirt around her straight and narrow hips. She looked at her long hair and her soft skin and her delicate hands… and not for the first time, she wondered…

Sophie turned away from the mirror.

She had packing to do.

  
  


Agatha couldn’t sleep.

She lay under a warm blanket, with the wind brushing through the trees and a light rain pattering on the roof. Moonlight barely shone through her window; the tree hiding its rays occasionally hitting the glass with its branch.

Agatha turned on her side, staring at her window.  _ Tap, tap, _ went the branch. The world outside was pitch black, shapes and outlines invisible in the dark.  _ Tap, tap.  _ Maybe it wasn't a branch. For all Agatha knew, it could be the School Master himself, right outside her room, leering at her. Taunting her. Knocking.  _ Tap. _ She could see him lurking in the corners of her room. _ Tap. _ She could see a claw reach out from the gap in her closet doors.  _ Tap. _ Peering over her toes, she could see him crouched at the foot of her bed.  _ Tap. _ He was everywhere at once and nowhere at all, and Agatha was alone.

She could hear something in the wind, hidden behind the rustling of dead leaves. A sound she’d never let herself forget. A quiet, persistent wheezing, a dying woman clinging desperately to life. Gasping for air, rasping for breath, choking on her own spit. And Agatha was seven, all alone, unable to sleep as she held her mother’s hand in the dark, waiting for the morning, waiting for her father. But when her mother finally went silent, her father wasn’t there. When she went cold and stiff, he wasn’t there. When the midnight chimes rang through the valley…

Agatha was fifteen again, angry and scared, and she couldn't sleep.

Throwing off her covers, Agatha got to her feet. She bundled her pillow under her arm and walked out into the hallway. Leonora had told them not to leave their rooms, yes, but she wasn't enough of a fool to believe  _ none _ of them would. For a moment, Agatha considered heading to her parents' room; even if they gave her a scolding, they wouldn't turn her away. Maybe Mother would even make her a snack and a drink, to calm her down. That would be nice…

Then Agatha saw the light under her brother's door. It wasn’t unusual for him to stay up this late, but he usually kept his lantern off for it. Not that it mattered too much to Agatha; and Aric could be good company, if he wanted to be. Agatha shoved open his door and made a beeline for the bed. Aric was sitting on it, bent over some thing in his hand—before he could object to the intrusion, Agatha blindsided him with her pillow and flopped onto the mattress.

“Close the door,” Aric said, then went to do it himself. As he walked back, Agatha tried to kick him, he tried to sit on her, she tried to shove him off the bed, he toppled sideways onto her, and gravity sealed his victory.

“You know, this is what whales sound like,” Aric said, ear on Agatha's stomach. He'd gone back to staring at the thing he was holding, whatever it was. Agatha couldn't see it too well.

“I don’t believe you,” she scoffed. “The fuck’s a whale, anyway? That thing?” She pointed at the object in his hand.

Aric shoved it in his pocket. “You remember that fish they caught in the lake last summer, the one that was so huge they had to get  _ five _ men to haul it in?” When she nodded, he sat up, leaning in conspiratorially. “Whales are  _ bigger.” _

“You’re lying,” Agatha said, even though she knew he couldn’t.

“God’s honest truth! Heard it from Nicola myself: they’re as big as Gavaldon, every single one of them—”

“What do they eat, then?” Agatha demanded, both horrified and fascinated at the thought. She wondered if the School Master would be scared of a whale, if he saw one.

Aric grinned at her. “That’s the thing. There’s these tiny,  _ tiny _ fish in the water, can’t even see them with just your eyes—the whales just suck them all up, just like breathing. Don’t even think about it.”

Agatha frowned. “I bet the fish do.”

“They’re so small, it doesn’t matter to them.” Aric shrugged. “Don’t even realize they’ve been eaten until they’re dead.”

Aric lay back down, and the pair of them considered his words quietly.

“Is that what Sophie thinks?” said Agatha, after a while.

“Mmm?” Aric yawned.

“About Gavaldon—and I guess us, too. Are  _ we _ the fish? Just… tiny, and insignificant, swimming around, not even knowing something’s eaten us until it’s too late?”

Aric looked at her. “What’s the whale, then?”

Agatha scratched her neck, feeling a rash come on. “I-I mean, I don’t know; I was just saying things,” she stammered.

“No. No,” Aric reassured her. “Maybe you’re right.”

Silence fell again. This time the air felt more uneasy, as the two of them tried to ignore the impending call of midnight and what it brought. Agatha forced herself to settle in the flickering glow of the lantern, sputtering warm and gold light despite the coldness of the night. There was a vacancy that she could feel, without all the distraction and noise—and she knew Aric could feel it too: a hole, a void; like a triangle without a third point.

How funny it was to have spent the whole day apart from Sophie.

And now, by tomorrow…

Aric rolled off the bed and onto his feet, picking his lantern up off the dresser. He’d never liked sitting still for too long.

“Come on,” he said, reaching out his hand, “we’re going.”

Agatha took it. “Where?”

“To say our goodbyes.” He pulled Agatha up, a tremble in his lip. “Don’t forget your promise.”

Agatha nodded.

And she hugged him.

And Aric made to say something, maybe to tell her he’d miss her, or that everything would be alright… but he closed his mouth, put his arms around his sister, and held on tight until there were no more tears left to cry.

  
  


Four years ago, Aric hadn’t been old enough to be kidnapped. The ones taken were Garrick and Bane. Aric knew them well: he’d gone to school with them for a few months—at least before he’d gotten kicked out. And that was Garrick’s fault, anyway. Garrick was kind and gentle and soft and, according to the headmaster, everything that a boy shouldn’t be. The headmaster had a habit of sticking his nose into places they didn’t belong. And four years later, he still had the scars, and the limp, and the terror in his eyes when he dared to cross Aric’s path.

Garrick liked rabbits. He could never have one, because fur made him sneeze until his face turned snotty and gross and he couldn’t breathe—but every day after school, he and Aric would hide in the thicket by the lake, the place with all the warrens and burrows, and watch the rabbits play. The creatures would scamper and frolic about, and Garrick would laugh. He only ever laughed around rabbits.

Aric wanted to make him laugh. The whole morning and afternoon of Garrick’s birthday, Aric spent it outside of the thicket, trying to catch a rabbit. And, when the moon had risen and the world had gone to sleep, he finally succeeded. It was small, the color of flax. When he snuck it in through the bedroom window, Garrick laughed. And Aric laughed with him.

That was then.

There was a flaxen rabbit outside, at the edge of the forest. Aric could see it from Sophie's window kneeling on the bed—was it looking back at him? Probably not: there was a lone guard outside, bored with torch in hand, and keeping himself awake by using a broken headstone as a barbell.

Sophie was speaking. “You didn’t have to help me pack. It’s—I’m fine on my own.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, glancing up at her brother. Agatha was on her other side, pairing and folding socks with an intense focus that Aric found funny, in a depressing way.

“Are you alright?” Sophie addressed the room.

“Yeah,” her siblings answered.

Agatha gave Aric a look. “No,” he amended.

Now Sophie was staring at him.

Aric flinched, turning away from the window and crossing over to the dresser. “Anything else you need in here? Skirts? Dresses?" He pulled open drawers absentmindedly. "There's half a roll of cotton here, I think. Maybe you could make something at school…" He turned to hand it to Sophie—

She didn't take it. "Aric, what's wrong?"

Anger flared up inside him. Why didn't she take a wild guess? "What's wrong with  _ you?" _ he wanted to snap back. But he bit it down. "I don't want to talk about it," he replied instead, tossing the roll at his sister.

"Aric…," Agatha tried.

"Drop it. Please."

Aric grabbed a book off the top of the dresser. The White Witch: Sophie's favorite, he remembered. They rolled her down Graves Hill in a barrel when they were seven. "Do you want this, Soph?"

Now it was Sophie's turn to be uneasy. Aric could half-guess what it was about: Mother had stopped by the Pub on her doctoral rounds; Nicola had avoided them the whole time they were there. When Aric managed to corner her, she deflected with some generic answer and distracted him with whales.

Sophie started to shake her head… but paused. She reached for the book, tracing its cover gingerly." “Can I ask you something?” she said softly.

They nodded.

She pursed her lips, took a deep breath: “Do you… think I’m evil?”

Aric’s first instinct was to laugh.  _ That _ was what she was worried about? Ending up a witch who ate children, or a tyrant queen who brewed hideous potions? To Aric it was as unlikely as him ending up some gallant prince. But he saw Sophie’s face, twisted with guilt and worry… and he wondered what exactly happened between her and Nicola.

Aric sat next to his sister, taking her hand. “Of course not,” he soothed. “Look, I don’t know what or who made you think like this, but you’re a good person, and the best sister we could’ve asked for. So yeah, you might be ‘unconventional’, whatever that’s supposed to mean—” he scoffed— “but if I hear the School Master’s been putting you in the wrong school…” He raised his fist mock-threateningly.

“Says the boy who cried when Mother said he put too much salt in the stew,” said Agatha dryly.

“My stupid brain has worms and you  _ know _ that, Agatha!” Aric pointed out.

They stared at each other, waiting to see who’d crack first.

Sophie snorted—then all three were laughing.

Slowly their laughter trailed off.

“It’s almost midnight. He’ll be here soon,” Sophie said. “You don’t want to get back to your rooms?”

Aric looked at Agatha, whose eyes flickered to Sophie. “But one of us is coming along, Soph,” Aric explained gently.

Sophie’s eyes widened. “What? But…" She glanced between her siblings. "Which—?"

Bells pealed in the distance. The three froze, listening to the number of chimes.

_ One. Two. _

"He's coming," Sophie whispered.

Agatha grabbed Sophie's bag, putting it in her sister's hands.

_ Three. Four. _

Aric darted to the window.

The rabbit was gone. The guard too.

_ Five. Six. _

But Aric found him, collapsed over the headstone, torch extinguished. A bony, hunchbacked figure glided away from him, towards the house.

_ Seven. Eight. _

Aric scrambled away from the window, grabbing his sisters' hands. "You saw him," Sophie gasped. Aric could barely nod.

_ Nine. Ten. _

They heard the front door unlock.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, approaching the door.

_ Eleven. _

The doorknob rattled. The three watched it turn, the door creaking open…

_ Twelve. _

Midnight had come.

And with it, the School Master.

His shadow loomed tall in the doorway. Whatever thoughts Aric had of their parents being able to protect them vanished. But he stepped in front of his sisters, waiting for the School Master’s first move: to snatch Sophie, to cast a spell, to attack… 

Aric didn’t expect him to laugh.

“Well then,” the School Master mused. “So, there’s three of you.”

His voice made Aric’s skin crawl. Not because it sounded monstrous. But because it sounded  _ human. _

Icy blue eyes peered out from the darkness, scanning each teenager in turn. “I’ve only come here for two, I’m afraid. I know my first choice, of course. But what about the second…?” The School Master hummed in thought. Aric knew he was mocking them. “Oh, I know,” he finally said.

A ghostly pale hand unfurled itself from the shadow, pointing at Sophie in her pink dress: “Eenie.” It pointed at Agatha, shuddering despite her defiant glare: “Meenie.” The hand drifted to Aric… and paused.

“I remember you,” said the School Master. “Yes, I remember you quite well. Asked me to take you—pleaded, even—" he smiled coldly— “but you were just too young, weren’t you?”

“What is he talking about?” someone asked, but Aric could barely hear it.

Blood rushed into his head, his heart pounding like a drum in his ears. His focus narrowed on the shadow in the doorway, while emotions surged in his veins: horror, rage, guilt—four years of agony crashing into his chest and threatening to swallow him whole.

There was something he’d never told anyone before.

Garrick’s birthday was on the same day he was taken.

And Aric was there when it happened.

“Maybe I won’t take you after all,” the School Master considered.

He smiled again, and it was like the Devil himself.

“For old times’ sake.”

Aric didn’t know he charged at the School Master until he was already on the ground. Pain wracked his whole body, his vision starting to blur and swim. He tried to push himself up, to get back on his feet, to shout, to make any movement at all—but his limbs felt like they’d been turned to stone. All he could move were his eyes.

There were screams—his sisters! The shadow swept past Aric and grabbed them. Why weren’t his parents here? What did the School Master do to them? Aric kept fighting to move, getting more and more desperate as the School Master dragged Sophie and Agatha away. They reached for him, snared by the shadow’s grip—

Then they were gone. And he was alone.

They were gone.

They were  _ gone. _

Aric lay still on the ground, silent tears streaming down his face.

He failed them. Just like he’d failed Garrick.

The house was so quiet now. And it was cruel, Aric knew, but he hoped the School Master was merciful enough to kill the rest of his family, rather than let them suffer loss. And he hoped that if they were dead, he’d join them soon.

Aric shut his eyes. Waiting. Waiting…

_ “Mrrp.” _

Aric opened his eyes.

It was Reaper. And… and he was holding something in his mouth…? It was yellow, or gold, or—

Flax.

Reaper let go of the rabbit, and it hopped up to Aric, nose twitching. It turned back to Reaper, and the cat trotted to its side, licking Aric’s tears away…

Aric felt his fingers twitch. Magic cat, he thought blearily. He started feeling his whole hand, his arms, his torso… He pushed himself up and stumbled to his feet, leaning against the doorframe for balance. Reaper blinked at him proudly with his one good eye; the rabbit pawing at his feet insistently—

Right. Yeah. No. He couldn’t give up on his sisters like this. As long as they were still out there in that monster’s hands, they were in danger. But how could he get to them in time? Aric looked down at the rabbit, at Reaper. Both of them looked at him expectantly, as if he already knew the answer. The rabbit closed its eyes, mimicking deep concentration and thought…

Rabbits were fast, weren’t they? But there had to be something faster. Aric followed its lead, breathing deep, drawing from his anger, his determination, searching for an answer inside himself.

Something changed.

Aric opened his eyes for a second time. He looked down at what was once his hand…

And grinned.

  
  


Agatha thrashed in the School Master’s grip, trying to wrest his grip on her—but Sophie didn’t know if she should even try. This was what she’d wanted, right? To leave home? To go to the School?

“LET US GO!” Agatha screamed, now kicking, biting, punching. If anything, it spurred the School Master on, his pace quickening as he reached the woods. Sophie’s heels dragged on dirt; she’d quickly given up trying to match his steps. All she could do was look back at the house and see if anyone would come for them. Mother? Mama? Father? Aric? But the front door stayed wide open and empty. Not even anyone rushing up the hill.

Deeper and deeper, they were pulled into the pitch-black forest, and Agatha kept fighting. Didn’t she know it was pointless? They’d never see home again—

Sophie felt herself leave the ground. As something spindly and cold wrapped around her, she reached for Agatha, to see if she felt it too. Agatha’s hand gripped her like a vice, and Sophie realized… the School Master was gone. Something else was carrying them up. As Sophie’s eyes adjusted to the dark as her arms were pinned to her sides by the creepers of an elm, which shot them up the huge tree and dropped them on the lowest branch. The girls immediately held onto each other, shivering and catching their breath.

Agatha spoke first. “Aric,” she gasped. “Where is he?”

Sophie couldn’t answer, clinging to her sister as she scanned the woods. There was nothing except leaves and the undergrowth, bushes shuddering in the wind—

No. Not wind. There was something coming! “Up here!” she called excitedly—

A rabbit sprinted out of the bushes. Sophie’s face fell.

Then a massive black wolf burst out, hot on the rabbit’s tail. Sophie blanched, shrinking into Agatha’s side as the beast barrelled straight for their tree—

And  _ changed. _ Paws became hands and feet, fur became skin and clothes, and all of a sudden the wolf running at them was—

“ARIC?” Sophie shouted in confusion.

“Aric? Where!” Agatha shouted back, twisting around like she’d be able to see.

“I’m coming!” Aric yelled to them, scaling up the tree. The creepers tried to swarm him, wrapping around his legs and wrists, but Aric kept climbing, ripping and tearing the plants off him. Just as he reached their branch, he grabbed Sophie’s hand—

The branch wobbled, coiled like a spring, and flung the trio into the air. Before they could scream, they landed on another branch. They had barely enough time to hold onto each other before the bough dipped and vaulted them up to the next bough, which snapped them up to the next. “HOW TALL IS THIS FUCKING TREE?” Agatha shrieked, as bodies slammed into each other, clothes tearing on thorns and twigs, faces crashing into bark—until they finally landed at the top.

A giant black egg sat before them. The girls gawked at it. (Aric was busy throwing up into the forest canopy.)

Then the egg started  _ hatching. _ It cracked and tore open, splashing the three in a disgusting dark yolk as an enormous bird emerged from the shell, made entirely out of bones. It glared at them with hollow eyes and unleashed an angry screech that pierced their eardrums. Then it snatched Agatha and Sophie with its claws and swooped off the tree, Aric barely managing to latch onto its tail. The three screamed as the bird did, gangly trees swiping at them as the bird dove and soared to avoid them, when thunder exploded and they crashed headfirst into a raging thunderstorm. Rain drenched their clothes as bolts of fire sent debris flying at them, and all the while Aric was climbing up the bony bird’s skeleton, gripping the ribs like a ladder until he straddled the bird’s neck and raised his fist. “PUT US DOWN!” he shouted, cracking his knuckles on hard bone. The bird screeched once again and swerved, plunging into the trees as mud and timber shot at its passengers, the siblings shielding themselves as it plunged into deadly briars—

Then it was quiet.

“Guys…?”

Sophie opened her eyes to the light of dawn. She looked down with a gasp…

Two spiraling castles reached for the heavens, cloaked in morning mist. One castle glittered with colored glass, pink and blue turrets soaring over a sparkling lake. The other towered, blackened and carved from jagged rock, blood-red spires tearing through smog like fangs.

The School for Good and Evil.

As the bird swooped closer, Sophie felt her heart lighten. It had all worked out: her siblings reunited in their new home. Sophie beamed at Agatha and Aric—

Aric’s fist was raised once again.

“No! Stop!” Sophie pleaded, as her brother threw his punch—

With a screech, the bird spun and let go, dropping Sophie, Aric, and Agatha into the fog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u are confused by things,,,,,,,,,,,, dont be [heart emoji] this is an au i do whatever the fuck i want

**Author's Note:**

> god, fuck, Yeah? i guess i'm rewriting the whole damn book wish me luck guys


End file.
